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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24640282">bird song</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/kkeithkatt/pseuds/kkeithkatt'>kkeithkatt</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Voltron: Legendary Defender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Guardian angel keith, I wrote this in like an hour so its probably trash but oh well, M/M, Wing AU, mentions of others - Freeform, wing fic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 01:55:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,431</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24640282</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/kkeithkatt/pseuds/kkeithkatt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>All Keith has ever known were the sounds. The songs. And then he hears Shiro's soul, singing out to him, and he knows this man is his charge. His to protect.</p>
<p>But guardian angels were never meant to fall in love.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Keith/Shiro (Voltron)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>50</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>bird song</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Keith was born, he had known immediately he was different.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Of course, it didn’t really register for a long time. He didn’t know the memories he had, how old and detailed and bright they were, weren’t normal. Not until he was older, wiser, and his father told him some of the truth after he would meet other kids. Different kids.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He remembers the songs the best. Bright and high pitched, not unlike birds. There had been so many colors too, all throughout his childhood Keith remembered the fiery reds and deep golds, shiny and brighter to him than any others. He remembers asking his father to paint his walls that color and the rich laugh that followed, the soft brush of fingers through his hair. He hadn’t known then that those colors weren’t for human eyes, much less walls.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That laugh carries him now and it’s the only other noise to really rival the songs in his head. The only noises he holds onto.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When he was younger and all he had known was the desert skies, the brittle sand, and the four corners of their tiny home, life had been simpler. Keith hadn’t known he looked wrong (different, his pa would say, but he knew better now). All he had known was the feeling of the air on his skin, in his hair, and the taste of the world as he dipped into it, unseen. Unafraid.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His childhood had been full of secrets but Keith hadn’t known that until later.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It had been so much easier then. Better. He hadn’t had to hide when he was there, safe and away, and he misses the days when he could wear his own face, talk his own words. Be in his own skin.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He hadn’t known his mother. Still didn’t. But things eventually made sense, later when he thought to put it all together. With his dad though, it hadn’t mattered then and Keith supposes she didn’t now either.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But Keith knows she’s the reason he looks this way. Is like this. And he knows she’s the reason he has to hide.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Secrets, his pa would say when Keith had known to ask, get us killed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In the end, he had been right.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Keith didn’t want to be next.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p>The foster homes had been hard. Too grey and cold and they lacked the songs Keith would sing with his pa. They lacked the words to understand them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He hadn’t known he wasn’t speaking English until the first woman had slapped him and yelled.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They had called it the devil tongue, cursing his name and making him pray over a worn book that screamed<em> wrongwrongwrong </em>to him. He scoffs now, knowing how twisted and wrong they themselves had been.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Devil tongue? He had thought. It had been anything but.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Keith read about angels in his classes, heard the first foster mother speak of them with a shrill voice. Little figurines had littered her home, covered her walls, and every time he looked at those pale faces, rosy cheeks, and curled hair, his body had itched and his fists had tightened.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They look nothing like that, he had thought, not knowing why or how he knew he was right.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The stories talked about beautiful, violent beings. Ones full of anger but justice, weapons to carry out His name. Keith didn’t know who this He was but he thought, distantly, that these humans didn’t either.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Keith never heard a man’s voice. Or even a woman’s. They were just beings. All or nothing. Just sound. Their songs were always beautiful though. Hauntingly so. And he thinks maybe the humans got that part right.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Angels were scary. Weapons and tools. But he wasn’t sure whose command they ran off.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His dreams were full of songs and hands. The air was warm, just right. Like a hug his pa would give. Like the winds in the desert. There were no words, not really, but Keith had understood the odd croons and gentle clicks.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> Home</em>, they said. <em> Protect</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He knew no home, not anymore, and he wasn’t sure what he had to protect. Himself? But something about the dreams made Keith realize he would understand eventually.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>All answers would come to him. Someday. And he would know.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>He understood when he met Takashi Shirogane.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The years had passed, Keith’s back full of itching and aching pains, and his head full of secrets and confessions no one else could hear. The songs were just as loud as they had always been, the colors just as bright, and his body just as small and tight.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He felt, constantly, like a wrapped thing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When Keith met Shiro, the songs and voices in his head had stopped and he knew silence for the first time.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Suddenly, he didn’t hear them, but himself. Himself, he realized, and Shiro.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> Don’t mess up. </em>A voice, not his own and not in the Other language, said. Clear and just as loud as the others in his head. Male, he thought. Distinctly so.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Keith remembers looking up, his body tense and rigid like always, but somehow more so. Different. There had been a pull, like a sting tugging his face towards something. And when he looked, arched his brow and chin, he saw Takashi for the first time.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Takashi Shirogane was a tall man. Broad and with dark hair. His bones sang for freedom and of pain. Keith had looked over his grey uniform, smelt the hint of metal, and wind so cleanly from across the room. And when he locked onto those dark eyes, grey and brown and maybe even hazel, he thought of his wish for red and gold walls.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Suddenly, those colors paled in comparison and all he wanted to do was dip his fingers in the pools before him. Shiro’s gaze, he thought, held the universe, and Keith aches to touch. To understand.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Keith’s eyes didn’t leave Shiro once as the man moved to the front of the room, next to his teacher’s desk. He barely heard him as he spoke of space and flying away, of an academy they could all one day be a part of.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>All he heard was a song. Nothing like the birds and croons in his head of before, but not unlike them either.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This was Shiro’s song. Low and slow, but deep and full of arches. Drops and high rises, like the tide his pa had shown him when he was young and innocent. Shiro’s soul spoke of freedom and dreams and was full of nightmares.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And Keith knew then, when his hands had wrapped around those controls and he felt Shiro’s hand settle on his shoulder, that this man was his to protect.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He would follow him anywhere. Always.</p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>The Garrison knew nothing of flying.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The simulators were cool and the hoverbikes came close, but there was no rush of air or the taste of minerals.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Being this close to the desert, back to where his feet had first known, gave him something whole again, and the first chance he got, Keith went back to the shack.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was his first free weekend as a cadet, special privileges they only earned after several months of barked orders and straight spines. The movements had been easy for him, ingrained twists of his body, and yet he remembers fighting them anyway.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Keith would not bend for these men. Not for anyone. Especially the unworthy.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Shiro was worthy though and when the older cadet walked towards him, footsteps heavy in the hall, and his song would fill Keith’s ears, replacing the birds, he would budge.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He suspects it was his willingness for Shiro, and perhaps even the older one’s sway, that granted Keith these special weekends away but he didn’t question it too much. Like his mother, the answers didn’t really matter.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>No, what mattered was the boy and the home, and when he finally crossed that threshold again, felt the colors of the walls fill him, Keith felt something inside him realign back into place.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He knew that was wrong. Somehow, this place was not meant to be home anymore, or maybe it was never meant to in the first place, but he let it fill him anyway.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He did not go fly that first weekend. Or those first few months at all. Too afraid of what was watching, this close to the Garrison.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Instead, he flew in a different way.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The mirror of their bathroom was cracked and dusty and took him too long to eventually replace, but did the job none the less. He had closed his eyes and reached out, like stretching a limb tired and numb, his nerves tingling unpleasantly, and when he heard the songs get louder, he reopened his eyes and finally saw.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Over the years, his face had become less of a stranger to him, but it still felt wrong, and for these weekends, he got to erase that. Just for a little bit.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Gold, sharp feathers framed his face like a crown. Or maybe a helmet. They reached down his face, towards his jaw, with pointed ends, glinting beautifully in the autumn sun. Around his ears, now pointed, they spiked around them, arching over the bends of his skull and ear and reaching out, up and away towards the sky like empty, hungry hands. The gold blended into his dark hair, replaced with utterly human strands, and he would run his hands, pointed and clawed now, over the smooth edges. Hair, feathers. It felt the same to him. Different. Wrong. Right.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Something else.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Markings covered his body, more than there had been when he was smaller. A purple streak stretched over his collarbones and shoulders, pointing down his back and parallel each other across from his spine. They were dark and heavy and nothing like the gold feathers but he loved them just the same.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>More gold covered his skin too, some like freckles (some were freckles) but others were more angular, sharper, and almost resembled words, but none Keith himself knew. They ran over his arms, disappearing into more feathers, covered his thighs, and bunched between his shoulder blades. A message, he thought, but not for him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Someone else.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’d drag his clawed nails over them, the nail a dark red, as rich as his own blood. A fire heart, his father would say, pressing a scratchy kiss to his forehead, ruffling the feathers there too. They had been softer then. Not as sleek.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But the real difference, the one thing that truly marked him as not-human, were the wings that hid on his back. They stretched out far, farther than his arms for sure, and were the same gold color as the feathers framing his face, covering his forearms. Some red ones mixed in too, a warm rose gold that his pa had always loved the most. He remembers careful hands parting them, cleaning them, and scratching their blunt nails over. A soft croon would rise from his throat, not unlike a purr, and he would feel the scratch again as his pa would groom him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The wings and other looks hadn’t been strange to them, not here, but when his pa would leave for work every other day he would make Keith promise to hide them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Don’t go outside to fly till I’m back, dad would say. And Keith would promise, even though he knew these skies better than the man by then, and he would stretch his wings before curving them in, tucking them close, and willing them to disappear.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He could still feel them. Always. For Keith, the wings stayed, could feel the feathers poking into his back, the curving of the bone, but when he’d turn his head to look, there would only be air.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A camouflage, his pa would say, and Keith would think of the chameleons his teacher had shown them in science and nod. Understand.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>This was their secret. Keith’s and his pa’s alone. And when he left the shack and saw his classmates, the other adults, Keith had known no one else had these. No one else looked like him here. And he knew why his pa made him hide, why he was scared of their secret.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Now, Keith wondered if Shiro would ever see his feathers. He hoped so.</p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>The first time Keith flew was after Kerberos.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In the air, with the wind all around him, warm and understanding and his, Keith could hear his song.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Shiro would come back soon. Keith would find him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was his job.</p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Shiro came back and Keith blew up the Garrison tents. Then he punched the officers that kept him there. Then he ran.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And now he was in space.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Space, Keith quickly realized, that wasn’t for him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was cold for one. And there was no win. No clouds or sky. Only stars and dropping temperatures. Sucking vortexes and hollow noises. The songs were so much quieter up here, even Shiro’s, and the quietness of his head scared him more than anything else. Short of Shiro’s disappearance anyway.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>After over a year of having his feathers free, Keith had taken to hiding them again. The other humans, and even the Alteans, couldn’t know about it. Couldn’t see.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They would not understand. Not even Shiro. Not now.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>So he fights, lunges at the training droid with bared fangs, and a protective glare. Beats the thing to the ground like it’s nothing. Ignores Allura praising his attack but criticizing his inability to fight as a teammate.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was not the team’s responsibility to guard Shiro.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was his and his alone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He keeps going, gets better at beating the droid. At flying Red. At being part of Voltron. At being a better right hand, serving Shiro in more ways than one. He wraps his wounds alone, wraps Shiro’s when the man’s too stubborn to seek out Coran. Watches over his friend when the nightmares get too hard and he doesn’t ask for help, doesn’t tell Keith until it becomes too much.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Shiro doesn’t know Keith knows already. Doesn’t know it’s Keith that guides him back and fights off the dreams when they get too hard. Doesn’t know Keith stretches his wings out, over the man’s sleeping form, and when the gold glistens, he stops twitching.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Keith crushes the Galra soldiers, strikes them down like the vengeful angels in the stories. He wonders if the last thing they see is his golden wings, large and bright, and dripping with their blood, his blood.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> How dare they try to hurt him, </em> he thinks. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Shiro presses closer to his side after those missions and Keith lets him wrap his arm with gauze, hands gentle and kinder than Keith’s own.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He tries not to wonder if he’s going too far. The song of Shiro’s soul sings louder in his head though and he feels the pulse of him under his skin, over Keith’s own, and he pushes the fear away.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Everything he does is for him. It doesn’t matter what he thinks, as long as Shiro is safe.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Keith also tries not to think of the smile Shiro presses into his hair when Keith shoves him into his room, pushes him to sleep, and he tries not to think of the way he blushes and his stomach flutters with something wrong and unfamiliar.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Different.</p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Everything changes when he meets the Blade of Marmora.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He learns he’s galra, feels his duty tested when the vision of Shiro shouts, and leaves him. He sees his pa again, feels his rough, calloused hands, and smells his smoky, whiskey churned scent. Keith looks at his pa, thinks of Shiro, and sees a mirror of his future.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>All things start and end here.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The blade doesn’t awaken. Shiro fights for him and stands when it’s Keith who should be protecting him. He gives it up, chooses Shiro, and his destiny of answers that never mattered before (but they did).</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The knife glows and stretches and then he knows more than he ever wanted to. Shiro looks at him differently and Keith realizes, he looks different too. Sees different.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His chest hurts.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Later, when he puts his red paladin armor back on and his hands are bandaged, the gash in his shoulder tended, he falters. The Leader with the long braid, Kolivan, stops him from leaving the room, his head gently wrapping around Keith’s shoulder like he hadn’t been yelling at him earlier. Accusing him. Shiro disappears through the doorway and Keith tries not to feel betrayed. Hurt.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re a guardian.” The man says, blunt and calm, and Keith turns to him with a snarl he barely feels. Everything is too bright and loud and his head is fuzzy with voices, like tv static.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He jerks his arm, ripping it from Kolivan’s grasp. “A what?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Some Galra are born different.” He says and there’s that word, so ingrained and scratched into his soul that it makes him stiffen. “They have wings. Feathers. The Galra of our homeworld were rarely avian, though it’s said a small subsect of them existed and died out. But I know better.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Kolivan’s words are firm but not unkind. Just knowing. It makes Keith’s hands shake and he wraps them around himself, clenching them tight around him as he shoots the man a glare.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You don’t know anything.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Kolivan ignores him, just blinks that slow look at him. His tone is still insufferably calm. “Your mother had been one. As soon as I saw that blade, I suspected. You look so much like her.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Keith feels his breath hitch, feels his wings hunch together uncomfortably. This conversation shouldn’t matter, shouldn’t be happening. Shiro is on the other side of that door, so close, so far. Keith should be with him, close to his side, and watching him. Not here with this galra rebel leader.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He doesn’t belong here. And yet . . . .</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You knew my mother?” He asks, voice small and barely a whisper and he wants to take the words back. The answer isn’t his to know. It doesn’t matter.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But it does. God, does it matter to him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The birdsong hums loud. Lonely.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Kolivan nods and something of a smile flickers across his face before he wipes it away. “She held herself the same way as you. Like she was carrying something bigger than all of us” He stares at Keith then, for too long and hard. Keith feels like this man is judging him, baring his soul for his own hungry, questioning gaze, and he resists the urge to stretch his wings out in a flare, large and angry and territorial.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Then Kolivan looks away and breaths harshly. Once.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“She was different after her mission to earth.” <em> After you </em>, he doesn’t say, but Keith hears him anyway and suddenly it’s so much harder to be here, to look at this man.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don’t see why this matters.” He bites out, low and stilted, and refuses to look at the galra, even when he feels the weight of his gold eyes settle back on him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I know how you guardians work, Paladin,” Kolivan says tightly, like Keith’s very existence offends him. “I know what you stand for. What you feel you have to do.” Keith thinks of the birdsongs. Of the dreams. Of Shiro. He looks back at Kolivan.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Kolivan’s face looks pained and Keith can’t stand it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I know what happens when you break their rules.” He says and Keith thinks of his pa, of the empty smile he would look upon the stars with. Of the blade in his palm, cold and heavy and way too familiar. He thinks of Shiro, of the humming in his bones, of the haunting song of his soul. Of the quiet in his head when he stares at Shiro and longs. Wants.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Kolivan knows too much and it makes Keith afraid. This secret was never theirs. Was never his.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But, he supposes. Keith is that secret and the way Kolivan looks at him makes him think this man knows that fact way too much.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Your mother lost her wings, paladin,” Kolivan says and Keith feels his shoulders hitch closer, feels a chill settle over him, and the quiet song in his head goes away entirely, ripped from him like a slap, and he turns wide eyes up to the rebel. “Guardians are not meant to love. Especially not their charges.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Shiro is on the other side of the door. Keith should go to him now.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Kolivan’s stare is heavy. Knowing. “Be careful with him,” he says and Keith does not need to ask who he means.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He has known all along that he was too far into this. But, he supposes, Keith has always been different. Wrong. And why should that change now?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I should go.” He whispers, voice loud in the silence of Kolivan’s warning. The man does not argue, does not try to stop him this time as Keith turns and leaves.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They know his choice.</p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>They lose Shiro in the fight with Zarkon. <em> He </em> loses him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Failure settles inside of him like a poison. This is not like Kerberos, where Keith could not protect Shiro or change his mind. He was not with him when the ship landed. Was not there when the Empire surged them and took them away.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This time, Keith was right there, right next to him, and he failed to save him. Failed to protect him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Blood pools in his mouth from where he hit his head on the dash, mind still fuzzy from the quintessence onslaught. His hands shake as he grips the pilot chair, his head too quiet, far far too quiet, and his knees buckle as he realizes he can’t hear Shiro’s song, can’t feel the warmth of his soul anymore.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Something is wrong. <em> He’s gone. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>He doesn’t feel his legs shaking nor his knees buckling under his weight. Doesn’t feel the hit of the lion’s floor jolting through his bones, sharp and hollow. As his head stays silent and he clutches his eyes tight, Keith doesn’t hear the others shouting his name, nor the hands settling over him, shaking and pawing and too heavy.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They are not meant to be touching him. They are not his hands.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But Keith is already slipping, already feels the darkness surrounding and engulfing him as it had when the firefighters came and told him of his pa. He doesn’t feel those hands lift him and take him away and even if he had, it wouldn’t have mattered.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Without Shiro, nothing does.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>He dreams of ash.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Keith is back in the desert. But not the one of his childhood, but the one in the Blade’s simulators. There is fire everywhere. The air is too clouded, heavy with unnaturalness. It stains his skin like a blanket, invisible but too much, and he scratches at it, draws his claws down vulnerable, human skin.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The dirt clings to his knees from where they’re slammed against the ground, Keith’s body broken and tired. He knows, somehow, he is too weak to stand. That he should not.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There are no gold feathers on his arms. None touching the side of his face or brushing his ears. Even the markings are gone, replaced by unmarred, unwritten, blank skin. Ash covers him like a soot, the fire raging around him angry and full of grief. It is too hot, too heavy, and he feels shame at the sight of it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This is wrong, he knows. He should not feel like this. Should not be here.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Behind him, his wings are draped low, stretched out, and limply drooped towards the ground. He feels the soft brush of them against his bare feet and it makes him shiver. Even they are too cold.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Keith turns his head to look over his shoulder, hands shaking, and cries.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>No longer are the feathers bright and gold. They are not sharp and mighty.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Black stains every last one of them and as he stares, he looks at all the loose feathers surrounding him. Blood clings to them, stains the edges, and between the fine lines. Clumps drop from what was something beautiful and his. His wings, he realized, are going.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He has failed. He has broken the rules.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> Don’t make this mistake. </em>The voices say, more than sound and less than song. They are not warm. They are not kind.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He has displeased them and Keith brings his hands up, digs his nails into the meat of his own shoulder, crosses them over his chest, and breathes deep.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The fire feels his lungs and he chokes, chokes on smoke and a sob and the voices warp and he hears Shiro, hears his father, hears Kolivan.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> Do not fail again. </em> They say and he drops his head. The tears on his cheek are not and wipes them away, angry too. They should not be here either. <em> Do not be her. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Keith nods, once, and the fire pulls away, the songs returning, and when he opens his eyes next, he is in his room on the castleship. Alone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Love, he thinks, is nothing but a punishment. A temptation he does not need nor want.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He thinks of Shiro, of the quietness of his soul, and looks up at the ceiling.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Never again, he promises. Not again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He will not be his mother. Will not be his pa. Will not be what Kolivan warns of.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In his hand, he crushes a single black feather.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Keith will not fail again. Cannot.</p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>They find him in a drifting, oxygen-deprived space vessel and his soul is silent.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As Keith guides Shiro through the halls, his hands alone keeping him up, he thinks this is for the better. Shiro’s song was too loud, too much, and it’s best he not be swayed by it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This is his charge. Keith’s job is never to love him. He protects. That is all.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But it’s so hard to think that, to believe it, when Shiro looks at him through the dark of his room and the only sound is the mingling of their breaths. His gaze is too much to bear, too heavy for Keith’s shoulders, and it’s not fire that fills his lungs this time but something much worse.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He will not do this.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He washes him alone. The others had offered, had wanted to help, and see him, but Keith had looked at his friend, had seen the weariness of him, and told them to go. He would do this by himself. Needed to.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Shiro had been so still as Keith ran cold hands down his back, pulling away dirty layers of clothes and cutting open gauze to wrap around his wounds later. The water had been warm in the bath, soap bubbling around his legs and concealing what Keith had already pretended not to see. Keith tried not to think too much as he dipped Shiro’s chin back and poured the water over his hair. Tried not to linger too long when he carded his fingers through the dripping strands, spreading the shampoo and scratching over sensitive skin, cleaning his scalp.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He dressed him in silence, Shiro’s arms hanging limply by his side after Keith had offered him the towel. They feel soft in Keith’s hands. Warm. And he hopes they feel the same on the man’s skin. He hopes he feels safe.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Here. With him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Keith feeds him too, Shiro’s voice still hidden away. He opens his mouth to taste the soup though, says nothing as Keith offers him the straw to drink the water, and after, when Keith sets the dishes aside, the man sighs and leans back against his pillows, still sitting up and staring at his lap.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He looks across from him, over Shiro’s scratchy face, his too-long hair, and the new scars that cover his arms. Thinks of the bloody gauze around his thigh. A pang strikes his heart when Shiro looks up.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Keith looks away. Hears a single note of Shiro’s soul and shoves it away.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He stands up then, whispers an excuse about fetching more blankets. He’s so close to the door, opens it to the light of the rest of the world when Shiro’s voice stops him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“How many times are you gonna have to save me before this is over?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He freezes in the doorway. Oh, if only Shiro knew.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Keith thinks of that late classroom, the dust that had lingered in the air. Shiro’s smile had been so wide and innocent then. He thinks of the hitch in his breathing, the dreams of pink clouds and golden rays. The songs that had filled him and relished around him until all he had known was Shiro and this peace. This understanding. He thinks of Kerberos. Of the training droids. Thinks of laser shots and swords and dripping blood and geysers.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He thinks of Zarkon and his fall. Of the black lion.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Keith turns and smiles.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“As many times as it takes.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A promise Shiro will never understand the weight of.</p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>The weeks pass and as Shiro’s strength returns, Keith’s dreams get worse. The feeling inside him, familiar and wrong, does too and he feels its effects.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He eats less. Sleeps even less. His body aches all the time now and feathers, black and dark and too rough, drop from him almost on the daily. Kolivan’s stare is heavy, sad, and knowing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Keith hates it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hates the way Shiro looks at him sometimes. Like he is in the way and not enough.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It is not a surprise when he wakes to blood on his white sheets, too many feathers on his pillow, and as he slides them wordlessly into the trash, he knows what he has to do now.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>No one argues when he returns later, head low and voice quiet, and tells them he will be leaving with the Blade.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And when Shiro settles a hand on his shoulder and smiles, giving him his blessing to leave, Keith hears that final note again, soft and quiet, and he forces a smile.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Shiro had never needed his protection. Didn’t need Keith as a guardian, not when he failed this epically.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The goodbye, he knows, is what seals his fate.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Meeting Krolia makes it worse but now, he knows better. Understands more.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Kolivan had been right when he said Krolia had lost her wings. Where beautiful, long, purple, and burgundy feathers had been, there were only scars. It’s a deep gash, ugly and dark against her purple skin. It’s black, blacker than his falling feathers, and when he sees it, Krolia presses his trembling fingers to it. Flattens his palm over the scar.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I do not regret it.” She says, the words quiet but sure. Her hand comes up and reaches over his shoulder. He reaches up to grasp it with his lone hand. She is warm where he is cold.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Were you afraid?” He asks and he thinks of the flashes of the past, of her gentle smile, of his father’s loving face. He has seen neither of them happier.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Of that?” She says and then laughs. “No. Of love? Every day.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He thinks of Shiro and nods.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Everything will be okay. In the end.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p>He fights the clone. Brings Shiro back. The feathers stop falling. The songs are gone entirely.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>All he has left inside is himself and he thinks of Krolia and her scar and fears.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She was wrong to not be afraid, he thinks.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Being alone, with the quiet, is not for their kind.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He looks at Shiro’s sleeping face, body settled and healthy now, and wonders if he failed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He draws a hand over smooth skin, traces his thumb down his jaw, over the bottom of his cheek. Shiro breathes deep in his sleep and turns, pushing his face more into Keith’s hand.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yes, he thinks. Yes, he has.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But maybe… maybe that’ll be okay too.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>They make it to earth. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>After everything, after the fall of the lions, after the hospital, Keith goes alone back to the shack.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He drops the magic, from which he still does not understand, and lets his wings out, feels the feathers as he stretches and breathes the crisp air in again. This might be his final time for it and he relishes it. Wonders if it’ll hurt.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Shiro comes and finds him and Keith isn’t surprised when the door opens and he steps in. Neither is Shiro when he looks him over.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The songs are still silent. Shiro shuts the door and leans against it, just looking at him, and Keith looks back. Never wants to stop. Not anymore. Not now.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Krolia and Kolivan told me.” He says after some time and Keith dips his nails into the top of his flight feathers. These are still gold. Still shiny. “Krolia explained everything. Kolivan told me I should stay away.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He feels a smile tick across his lips, despite everything, and the ache in his back sharpens. Imagines another feather falling. Neither of their eyes dip to check.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Bet mom loved that.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Shiro laughs and steps away from the wood, comes closer until he’s in Keith’s space and Keith can smell his woodsy cologne, the gentle wash of his soap. He breathes it in and it helps the ache building in him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“She told me to do what felt right,” Shiro confirms and then settles a hand over Keith’s own, heavy and so, so warm over his own. It wraps around his shoulder and he feels the dip of metal fingers in his feathers and shivers.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It feels nice. Too nice.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Shiro’s fingers brush over the top of them and he curves his body towards him, wants for more, and the pain spikes again. Shiro’s grip tightens and he breathes, exchanges breaths with Keith in the dirty, squirt shack.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And you came here?” To me? His back itches. Another feather falls. Black. Dull. Ugly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Keith.” Shiro says his name likes its important. He looks up like he has always had to with this man, and Shiro’s face is too soft as he smiles down at him, lips curved prettily and brokenly, and he wants. He wants so badly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hands reach up and cup the sides of his face, covers golden feathers and fingers run over them gently, lovingly, and his breath shudders out of him as he exhales and dares not to hope.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Shiro doesn’t have to damn himself along with him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Keith looks into those eyes, so old and familiar, and it was the first thing he ever saw of this beautiful, beautiful man. He wants it to be his last if this is it for him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Keith,” Shiro repeats, leaning his head down closer but now enough so to touch. Keith’s not sure if he hates him for it or not. “I love you too.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He gasps, thinks of the clone, of the lighting and heat, and the new scar that crosses over his cheek. It had burnt the feathers there, made them fall and they had never regrown. He hadn’t felt too bad or vain about it. He reaches up and covers that cheek, covers Shiro’s hand, with his own and squeezes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You can’t love me.” He says and he feels his bones shake, imagines he can hear Shiro’s song again, any song. Outside, the birds chirp and he shivers. “You can’t.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Why not?” Shiro tilts his head, eyes gentle and so him and he wants to cry, wants to rip away from these hands, but they feel so good against his skin, against his feathers. So instead he reaches his wings out, the limbs shaking, and brings them up and around, framing the two of them. Shiro’s eyes flick up in wonder as he gazes at them before returning his gaze to Keith’s face.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Keith closes his eyes. “It’s wrong. Against the rules. I’m not supposed to love you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Says who?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Keith thinks of the voices, of the gentle songs that have guided his childhood and his whole life. They have always been with him, have always loved him, have always surrounded him, filled his mind with joy and sound.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Except for now.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They left him when he felt his most, when he was his happiness. Those songs, that joy, Keith realizes, is now in Shiro and he tightens his hold on the hand beneath his own, swallows hotly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His wings shudder as he draws them closer, tighter.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don’t want to be afraid,” He confesses and the secret feels like more than this moment. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Shiro understands though. Like Keith had all those years ago.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You don’t need to be. I’m here.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I’m here. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Keith breathes in deeply, tastes the desert sand in the air, and smells Shiro again. Beneath his fingers, Shiro’s pulse beats steady and Keith counts the beats, the rhythm, and hears his song. A new one.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He is not alone here. It won’t have to be quiet.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He opens his eyes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Shiro?” He swallows. “I love you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Shiro grins, bright and happy and knowing, and Keith doesn’t feel that anger, that uncertainty, and even as the pain arches up again, heavier and stronger than any time before, he ignores it. Ignores the gold feathers falling, ignores the way one gets pulled away, and how it drops when Shiro shifts his hands to grip him better.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>None of it matters anymore, not when Shiro dips his head and tilts Keith’s face up and kisses him. Nothing matters when Shiro presses close, tastes his mouth, fills Keith with something warmer, hotter, better than anything he has ever had before. He tastes the notes on his tongue, feels it in his own soul. Shiro’s lips press close and it drives the hum away, and when hands press his face tighter, draws him closer, steadies the shaking of his body as the pain crackles through him again, he smiles into Shiro’s kiss.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Shiro’s mouth is soft against his own, his smile warm and awkward against his own, and it’s not perfect, not anywhere close to being proper anymore. Keith doesn’t care, just draws his wings even closer, presses them against Shiro’s back, shields them from the desert sun.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He can have this. Wants this.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Shiro has always been his answering song and he doesn’t know how this could ever be wrong, how love couldn’t be his favorite tune, and as he kisses him back, nips his lips, Keith knows they’ll be okay. He presses a new promise to his mouth, draws it in, and wills it so.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Guard his heart. Guard your love for him. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Shiro will always be worth it.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm tired and posting this is probably something I'll regret in the morning but . . . oh well lol. I hope at least someone besides me enjoys this.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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